


Hyenas

by nakedhelot



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: BANKROLL MAFIA, Kags is ur local spoilt rich hot fuckboi with a heart of gold, Los Angeles, M/M, Self-Indulgent, Underage Drinking, aomine is out of his depths, lots of made up hot dudes lolololololol fight me
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-15
Updated: 2017-08-15
Packaged: 2018-12-15 18:16:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11811561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nakedhelot/pseuds/nakedhelot
Summary: In the last summer of their last year of high school, Aomine goes with Kagami to Los Angeles. The plane ride is long and boring because Kagami is one of those idiots who can sleep soundly in a pressurised metal can 30 000 feet in the air, but when they land in LAX and they’re picked up by a slouchy looking guy in a slouchy looking suit instead of, say, Kagami’s dad, that’s when Aomine knew this trip would be at least a little bit interesting.





	Hyenas

In the last summer of their last year of high school, Aomine goes with Kagami to Los Angeles. The plane ride is long and boring because Kagami is one of those idiots who can sleep soundly in a pressurised metal can 30 000 feet in the air, but when they land in LAX and they’re picked up by a slouchy looking guy in a slouchy looking suit instead of, say, Kagami’s dad, that’s when Aomine knew this trip would be at least a little bit interesting.

Los Angeles stretches wide across the window of the black sedan, palm trees and colourful, short buildings rushing by. Kagami and the driver exchange a few terse words in English and Aomine might not be fluent in that spoken word but he can gather that a) this is the first time these two have met, b) Kagami isn’t surprised that his dad didn’t come to them up. The car rolls up a pleasant suburban street and stops at house that would be frankly obscene by Japanese standards.

“Your dad lives here by himself?”

Kagami doesn’t look up from hauling their luggage out of the boot. 

“I’m not sure, but I know that he’s in Texas at the moment.”

“So. This huge fucking house is empty.”

Kagami opens the front gate, pays no attention to the black sedan driving away without a word of goodbye, grins at Aomine as the lock unlatches.

“Sooooo, we have this huge fucking house to ourselves for the month.”

-

Kagami’s house has terracotta tiles, white walls bordered with bright blue at the seams of the floor and the ceiling, and fucking arches for passageways instead of rectangles like the rest of the world. All the furniture is either made of wood or black wrought iron, all the linen is white, everything is surprisingly dust-free. When Aomine mentions this, Kagami shrugs, like it’s a given.

“He probably had someone come over and clean it up.”

There’s three bedrooms, not to mention that the living room has not one, but two sofas that look more comfortable than the bed Aomine’s got at home. There’s a sizeable garden both in front and behind the house, grass lushly green and plants healthy, emitting a sweet aroma. Obscene.

“Pick any bedroom you want.”

Aomine smirks.

“I want the one with the king sized bed.”

Kagami’s in the bathroom, tugging his shirt over his head, happy to leave the door open. His response echoes.

“They all have king sized beds.”

Aomine picks the bedroom with the view of the backyard instead of the front and Snapchats the whole fucking situation to Momoi. The worst part of it is that Kagami doesn’t see how weird it is, to own a three bedroom, three king sized bed, house and not live in it. Then again this is Kagami who lives in an apartment on his own the same size as the house that Aomine and his mother, father, brother, sister and sometimes cat live in.

He takes his own shower and surely enough the bathroom is all yellow marble, the shampoo, conditioner and body wash all the same brand, dark glass bottles and an english name Aomine can’t get his head around. What the fuck is an A-E-S-O-P? Regardless, the shit smells good, not soapy or detergenty or even minty but still fresh. 

When Aomine steps out in a loose shirt and basketball shorts sticking to his still damp skin, he finds Kagami draped across a sofa, basketball shorts too short lengthwise and too loose waist-wise sagging off his hips. His underwear band is thank god logo-less, but it’s bright red and rising softly at the peaks of Kagami’s hipbones. His chest is bare and pebbled with water like the fucker couldn’t be bothered towelling off properly. There’s a basketball resting at the foot of the sofa and Kagami types away at his latest release phone, dumb as to what he’s doing to Aomine.

Aomine slams his bedroom door shut, flings his towel across the bed to dry and drops to his knees. He tugs the charge cord violently out of his phone, sends a flurry of emojis to Momoi, the one with the smoke coming out of the little yellow circle man’s nose. He clutches his phone to his forehead. When he steps out, Kagami’s in the same fucking position but finally looks up.

“You good?”

“Yeah.”

“Alright, let’s go.”

“Where are we going.”

“Playing pick-up.”

Aomine says nothing, turns around, intending to unbox his meticulously packed Jordans.

“What are you doing.”

“Getting my shoes, dumbass.”

“You don’t need them, dumbass.”

Aomine turns around, Kagami’s bent over the sofa, picking up the ball. His ribs strain lightly at the brown of his obliques, and his spine peeks through at the bottom and top of his back. His shorts dip and Aomine wants to put his thumbs to the two little dips at the top of his ass and press.

Kagami cradles the ball against his hip and waggles his eyebrows. 

“We’re playing beach ball. Honestly, it’s netball, but still. Just wear flip flops for the walk down.”

“I didn’t bring flip flops.”

“Wear mine.”

“Gross.”

“Fine, go barefoot, pierce your foot with some needle and have to get it chopped off because you contracted rabies.”

“That doesn’t even make sense.”

Aomine ends up walking down to Santa Monica beach in a pair of size 12 Spongebob Squarepants flip flops. He snapchats them to Momoi. Who even makes fucking Spongebob merch in this size.

-

“So I was messaging a couple of friends and they’re probably gonna rock up in an hour or two, is that alright?”

Kagami is leaning back artfully, drinking water and being a topless menace because apparently no one in this country gives a fuck if you live life constantly half naked. He’s talking to Aomine like Aomine’s not hunched over his knees, gasping for life. After a few rounds playing basketball, technically netball, on sand, he finally gets a clue as to where Kagami legs learned how to jump like they do. 

“Anyway, that’s 5-1, Daiki.”

“Fuck you this is day 1. You know I’ll catch up, you little shit.”

“Just take your shirt off.”

Aomine’s brain jumps.

“What?”

Kagami gestures to his torso with his water bottle.

“You’re drenched in sweat and you’re on a beach. No one cares. Just take it off.”

Aomine stares at Kagami’s stupidly guileless face before tugging the hem of his shirt over his head to stretch around his neck. A compromise. Kagami rolls his eyes.

“Whatever man. Don’t take advantage of Los Angeles’ best feature.”

“LA’s best feature is that you can walk around topless?”

Kagami looks at Aomine like he’s the one who’s fucked in the head, sweeps his hand vaguely.

“Uh, yes?”

“You’re a pervert.”

Kagami tucks his head and grins and Aomine really wants to take a photo. Instead he pushes himself up from his knees and stretches.

“Alright, perv, round seven.”

“Your shirt looks stupid like that.”

“Watch me and my stupid shirt kick your ass.”

The sun has begun setting and Aomine dunks a ball into the basket bringing the score to 6-3 when they turn to go to their bench and find someone else sitting there. Kagami breaks into a jog and the dude stands up. By the time Aomine reaches them, he’s whipped off his shirt fully, because he probably did look like an idiot, and they’re deep into a conversation Aomine can’t follow. Aomine get’s introduced first, they fist bump and Kagami’s friends says stuff that Aomine can’t understand. Then Kagami turns to Aomine and speaks Japanese.

“Aomine, this is Santiago. He’s going to play college ball for UCLA.”

The first thing Aomine notices about San-cha-go, is that he isn’t Anglo-Saxon. His skin is darker than Kagami’s and lighter than Aomine’s. But his eyes are light in colour and his long eyelashes are not black. Aomine wonders if that would be the colour of his hair if he had any. Judging from the light peach fuzz covering his skull, most likely. The second thing Aomine notices about three-tea-five is that he has tattoos. A lot of them. And not the trendy, delicate type either. Nah, this dude has got some legit ink- gothic letters, angel wings, flames, the works. Kagami notices him staring and sweeps a hand against three-tea-five’s arm, says something. Aomine wants to learn English, needs to learn english, needs to combust. 

“He started getting them done a couple of years ago.”

San-cha-go takes Kagami’s hand and brings it to the spot just inside his hipbone, talks nonsense. There lies a pair of tattoos blacker than the others. Even at a distance the mark looks raised. Kagami turns to him, totally nonplussed.

“These are his newest ones.”

The street lamps are casting a soft light by the time they end their 2 vs 2 game against a US college league athlete and some random they heckled into playing who turned out to be decent. Kagami and Aomine win with just enough struggle to keep it interesting and Aomine watches Kagami in the light of a young night, halogen glow making the sweat on him glitter and god. 

Fuck.

-

The three of them walk back to Kagami’s place, each with a six pack in each hand and San-cha-go tries talking to Aomine with little success. In the end, Kagami ends up translating for them. Even though the comic timing takes a hit with this method of communication, Aomine has to concede that San-cha-go is a funny guy. Kagami ends up explaining that phonetically, his name translates to three-tea-five in Japanese and that's how Aomine ends up calling San-cha-go by what is for all intents and purposes, his actual name, and Kagami ends up calling him 3T5 in english.

They end up drinking in Kagami’s backyard, in various resting poses on his lawn because his ridiculous house doesn’t have garden seating. They shoot the shit for a bit and Aomine ends up doing a lot more listening than talking, something he is very unused to. He falls asleep somewhere in the middle of his fifth beer. When he’s shaken awake sometime later by Kagami, it’s noticeably colder. Kagami drapes his arm around him and steers his half awake self into the house, San-cha-go following. 

Aomine mumbles a goodnight and falls into bed. His last barely coherent thoughts are, Kagami’s lips looked really red and where is San-cha-go sleeping tonight.

-

Aomine shuffles into the living room around ten in the morning. San-cha-go is sinking into the sofa with Kagami’s legs draped over his lap. They’re both clasping a bowl of cereal in their huge hands, wearing nothing but boxers. San-cha-go is wearing a pair of Kagami’s.

“Morning,” Kagami chirps around the spoon in his mouth. San-cha-go offers a cheery wave. Aomine grunts. He washes the sleep out of his mouth in the kitchen sink and makes himself toast. All three of them sit on the sofa, watching a morning talk show that, surprise surprise, Aomine can’t keep up with for a bit, before San-cha-go gets up. He fishes the same pair of basketball shorts he was wearing yesterday out of nowhere and pulls them on, as if they gave him any more modesty than Kagami’s boxers. He and Kagami exchange more words, the only few of which Aomine understand being “Catch you later”, and he fist bumps with Aomine. He walks out of the house topless.

Aomine makes himself a third slice of buttered toast, finishes it, before turning to Kagami.

“Did you two fuck.”

Kagami’s eyes widen and he fumbles with his mostly empty cereal bowl.

“What?”

Aomine leans further in.

“Did. You two. Fuck.”

“Holy shit. Did anyone tell you?”

“No. I’m just not a dumb shit. That’s not what I’m asking here.”

Kagami stares at him, his blush reaching from the tips of his ears to his sternum, visible even with the tan he picked up yesterday.

“You don’t care?”

Aomine pulls back a bit, stung. 

“No, Kagami. I could give less of a fuck whether or not you want to bone dudes instead of chicks.”

Kagami whispers something Aomine doesn’t catch.

“Speak up, man.”

“I said, fuck!”

They sit in silence, staring at each other’s general direction but avoiding eye contact. The TV is spitting out some godawful jingle. From Aomine’s peripheral vision, he can guess it’s about mattresses.

“Hey. Can you just, answer my question.”

“No. We. You know what, this isn’t even any of your business.”

Aomine slides closer. Like he said. He’s not a dumb shit. He’s seen the way Kagami looks at him. He can only wonder how Kagami doesn’t see the way he looks at him as well. He tilts his body, his head, into a pose he knows works.

“Kagami.”

Kagami looks at him and some of the tenseness in the slope of his shoulder melts away.

“We just made out. A lot.”

It’s now or never for Aomine. Okay, maybe it’s now or later, after a lot of internalised suffering watching Kagami flirt with hot American, college league players. So it has to be now. Aomine’s pain threshold is low, low, low.

“I like you. You know that, right?”

“What.”

“I like you. I find you attractive. I like the way you look. I like the way you think. I like the way you play basketball. I like who you are.”

“This isn’t funny, Aomine.”

“You’re right. It’s not funny. Here I am, spilling my guts to the one person who I want to spend all my time with, more than I want to spend time with myself, and they’re making it out to be a joke.”

Kagami’s clutching the cereal bowl so tight now that he knows it would be a better idea to put it down. He does. 

“Okay. But you’re straight.”

“Uh, evidently not, dude.”

“I have seen your gravure magazines. You like boobs.”

“Have you seen boobs?”

“Aomine. I’m gay.”

“You can be gay and still appreciate boobs.”

“Wait. Look.” Kagami stands up. “I’m really confused.”

“What’s confusing.”

“You can’t like me, you like boobs.”

Aomine slaps both his hands over his eyes and drags them down his face.

“Ok. Listen up, idiot. I googled this shit and I’ve got it all worked out. I’m bisexual. I like girls and boobs and boys and arms and asses all round.”

Kagami sits back down, close enough that his and Aomine’s thighs are stuck together.

“Butts are so great.”

“They really are.”

“You like me.”

“A lot.”

“Since when?”

“Probably last year is when it really hit me.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I’m gonna be real with you, for a while I thought you were basketball-sexual. Then I saw you making eyes at me,”

“I have never made eyes at you,”

“I saw you making eyes at me, like real heavy, I want to fuck you into the paint eyes,”

“Fuck off!” Kagami laughs.

“And then after that it was just a matter of gathering my balls in an inherently homophobic society and figuring out how I could be with you without fucking everything else up.”

“You are smarter than you look.”

“I’m a genius.”

“Why now?”

“We’re in a city where I saw a pair of dudes rollerskate on a busy street wearing ass-less underwear and no one blinked an eye. Also you were hitting heavily on San-cha-go and alright, dude is hot, but I really like you.”

“You like me?”

“Have I told you I like you?”

Kagami’s leaning into him now, and wrapping his arms around Aomine.

“I dunno. I mean, you’re alright, I guess,”

“I’ll fucking show you alright,”

“But Santiago’s stacked.”

“What will it take to convince you.”

“You should play a one on one for my heart.”

“I wouldn’t play a one on one for your heart, but I would play a one on the entire US All-Stars line-up for your ass.”

Kagami barks out a surprised laughter and this is it. Aomine leans in, and their lips meet, and honestly. 

It’s the best.

-

They both leave the house shirtless toting surfboards under their arms and Aomine feels practically naturalised. They spend the rest of the day chilling out at the beach. Kagami gets the shits with Aomine for picking up the whole gist of surfing at a “freak rate”. When the water gets too cold and their fingers too wrinkly, they shove their boards deep in the sand at the border of the beach’s ball courts and join a game. They’re good enough to convince the two groups to play full court and Aomine feels lighter than ever. Maybe it’s because he did some sand training yesterday. More likely, it’s because Kagami is as handsy as ever, going so far as to kissing him every time he pulls something ridiculous off. No one cares. 

“Is it always like this?”

Kagami turns to him, eyes reflecting the sputtering of the bonfire flames. Aomine feels the inside of his mouth flush with saliva and it’s actually kind of gross.

“Like what?”

“I mean you were all over me on the court,”

“Get bent,”

“And no one even blinked.”

Kagami is silent for a second.

“Usually it’s like this. But I’ve seen some real dickish behaviour on the courts before.”

“Oh yeah? And did you fight them?”

“Yeah.”

Aomine was kidding.

“Uh, what happened?”

“Dude, this was like, middle school. But nah, some asshole just said shit about Himuro being a homo, which is actually hilarious because he has pulled the most girls amongst my straight friends, and I was 13 and my balls had just dropped so obviously I had to get into a fight.”

“Did you win?”

Kagami laughs.

“Fuck no. Himuro had to bail my ass out of that situation real quick.”

“Did you pick a fight with a 30 year old wrestler?”

“I think he was, like, a senior in high school. Did some kind of boxing or some shit.”

Aomine takes a sip of his beer.

“What’s more worrying is that you think Himuro is straight. You need to get your gaydar checked, man.”

Kagami gapes at him.

“Himuro is straight. You don’t even know him.”

“From one bisexual to another.”

Kagami rolls his eyes.

“Just because you’ve resolved your great sexual crisis doesn’t mean you’re now the Yoda of dudes fucking.”

“Holy fuck, I am totally the Yoda of dudes fucking. Should I get that tattooed on me like old mate San-cha-go. With flames on the borders of the letters and shit?”

“I have known Himuro since I was nine, and okay he might not have a problem with kissing boys, but that’s not because he’s bisexual. That’s because he’s a terrible human being.”

“Wow. Where is this coming from.”

“My observations and my middle school self’s broken heart.”

“I still maintain he’s bi. Should we ask when we get back.”

“Please don’t.”

“Does this mean you’re over him?”

“Are you casing my past flames?”

“I might be.”

“Okay, then tell me about all, alllllll, the girls you’ve hooked up with.”

“Fine. But answer my question first.”

“He’s definitely no longer my type.”

“What’s your type.”

Kagami stares at him hotly.

“I’m sure you can figure it out.”

Aomine’s cheeks hurt from how hard he’s grinning as he listens to Kagami crack into a fresh can.

“Now, girls, history, spill.”

“Okay, well, I always start with, nothing’s ever happened between me and Momoi.”

“That much is obvious, next.”

“Um, I dated a girl last year around about the same time I realised I was into you. Lasted three weeks and ended with me getting bitch slapped.”

“Who was it.”

“She was in the year above me at Touou, volleyball club, smoking hot.”

“Is that it?”

“Sorry that Japanese youth aren’t sexual deviants.”

“Ha ha, you and I know that that is the biggest load of bullshit.”

“Okay, maybe we’re sexual deviants but we don’t get the same opportunity to act upon it like you LA kids evidently do.”

“Point.”

“Anyway. Other than that, I’ve probably made out with a couple of girls at parties or athletic meets here and there. That’s about it.”

“How good are athletic meets.”

“They’re so, wait, what do you mean.”

“The only action I ever got in Japan was at an athletic meet, last year as well. He was a swimmer.”

“What was his name.”

“I’m not going to tell you that.”

“Am I going to meet any more past flames in our time here?”

Kagami has the gall to look sheepish.

“Uh, look, most likely.”

Aomine feels his jaw unhinge slightly. 

“Do you screw the crew, Taiga?”

“Fuck! Off!”

“You’re the worst. What am I getting myself into.”

Kagami smiles at him indulgently and pulls him in for a long, sloppy kiss. They’re hidden from the rest of people at the bonfire by the flames.

“A thing with a person who has a lot of make out experience.”

-

Right, so, what exactly did Kagami mean by “a thing”. Aomine pulls his phone from under his pillow. The screen reads 2:47. He was in bed almost two hours ago. But, like, most people would say “a relationship”, or even “a fling”, even that’s more concrete than “a thing”. Are they not dating? He’s already messaged Momoi a ‘Day 2: Made Kagami my boyfriend’ and he even did it on Line so it doesn’t expire. 

Aomine falls asleep to a spin-cycle of these thoughts churning around in his head. When he wakes up and shuffles to the kitchen for breakfast, okay, lunch, there’s a stranger leaning against the counter. He’s wearing blue mechanic overalls peeled off his torso, of course, and a tank top that was probably white at some point and is now an indistinguishable shade of pale, smeared with black. He’s also about Aomine’s height, tan, and fucking hell, good looking. The kind of good looking that can get away with a haircut evidently done by a hacksaw because it was short, uneven and sticking out everywhere. He almost looks Japanese so Aomine tries his luck.

“Hey man,”

“Hey.”

At least Aomine can verbally threaten this guy. 

“Aomine, finally you’re up. This is Honda, he was meant to come over a couple of days ago but he’s a chronic flake, so,”

“Soz.”

Aomine washes his mouth out in the sink.

“Santiago misses you, man,”

“As if. I see him every month, when he brings his shitbox along for whatever new thing is wrong with it. I keep telling him he’d be better off buying a new fucking car.”

Aomine interrupts the conversation by wrapping his tongue around Kagami’s. When they pull away, Kagami wordlessly turns around and prods at the eggs in the pan for no reason. Aomine leans on the counter, directly across from Honda, who’s raising his eyebrows and lifting one corner of his mouth into a grin. The grin cuts a deep crevice into the left side of his face and it’s honestly pretty charming.

“So, let me get this straight. Your name is Honda, and you’re a mechanic.”

Kagami laughs lightly behind Aomine.

“Almost. My name is Kita, but now I’m a mechanic, so my name is Honda.”

“Ah, true. Were you born here or,”

“I was born in Brazil. Japanese-Brazilian.” 

“You play ball?”

“Yeah. Football.”

Kagami groans and turns around with a plate of perfectly cooked bacon and eggs.

“Don’t listen to him. Soccer’s his sport, why he’s really called Honda, but he’s annoying good at basketball as well.”

Honda smirks and shrugs. If Aomine wasn’t one hundred percent sure that he and Kagami had hooked up at some point, he might even like this guy.

“Oh yeah?” Aomine leans further into the counter. “You wanna play one-on-one?”

“What, are we playing for a kiss?”

“Nah, I don’t need to play one-on-one for a kiss from this guy.”

“You’re right, neither do I.”

“Both of you can kiss my ass. Shut up and eat.”

“Aomine, right?”

“Yeah.”

“So, Kagami, has Aomine finally made an honest man out of you?”

“I will fucking bust your other knee cap dude, I don’t give a fuck.”

“Okay, chill, no need for low blows.”

Aomine shifts his eyes from Honda, to Kagami and back to Honda. They’re both studiously eating their 12:23 breakfast. Ah, fuck it.

“What happened to your first knee cap?”

Honda stares dead at him for a bit, chewing his bacon obnoxiously.

“Football injury. Fucked up my athletic career. Now I’m a mechanic trainee. Good shit.”

For the first time in a very long while, Aomine feels guilty for being an insensitive human being.

“That’s heavy. Sorry, dude.”

“All G man. I’ve made my peace with it and I’m onto the next.”

Kagami talks with a mouthful of food, and Aomine, god help him, finds it fucking endearing.

“What’s the next?”

“I’m gonna be a fucking F1 racer.”

Kagami says some incoherent nonsense and Aomine translates.

“Hectic. Are you a good driver?”

Honda rests his sharp cheekbone on his bony fist and smiles.

“You tell me.”

-

Honda drives an electric blue Subaru Impreza.

“As if you don’t drive a Honda.”

“What happened to your Nissan?”

“Please. Honda’s are the fucking worst. Nissan got impounded.” 

They slide into the car, Kagami shotgun. It’s the first day he’s chosen to wear a top, a plain white t-shirt 3 sizes too big, so Aomine elects to pull on a blank red jersey 2 sizes too big. 

“Alright Kags. Have you been keeping up with your trap education.”

“Nope.”

“Hopeless. Okay, let me get you up to speed.” Honda starts the car up, and Aomine can immediately tell that it’s been through a few mods. He plugs the aux cord into his phone jack, older than Aomine’s phone model, opens up Spotify and tosses it into Kagami’s lap. He pulls away from the curb and starts going at a speed that is already way too fast for suburban streets.

“Scroll down and find Hyenas by Bankroll Mafia.” Honda pulls into San Vi-Something Boulevard just as Kagami taps on the song. The car is instantly flooded with some amazing bass and treble and Honda steps onto the accelerator. The windows are down, the heat dry and there are the right amount of cars to justify the odd swerve. Kagami laughs incredulously and Aomine can’t help his own smile. Honda speeds down the boulevard so that one obscenely large house blurs into the next, that blurring into the endlessly vivid blue of the sea and the cloudless sky. Kagami turns around and the wind whips his hair every which way. The scent of the boundless tarmac of the Santa Monica Freeway permeates his brain, and the sensation of inertia buzzing restlessly under his skin makes Aomine feel like he’s flying.

Aomine has to yell to be heard over the music, the wind, the car.

“Where are we going?”

Kagami just waggles his eyebrows at him in the rear view mirror. Honda’s eyes look like they’re having a minor seizure.

“I was solicited for a lift to the Staples Centre, so I guess that’s where we’re going.”

Kagami punches Honda solidly on the arm. 

“Wait, wait. Why are we going Staples Centre.”

“Well, the Lakers are holding an open practice for the first time in a million years, so I figure we might as well check it out.”

Aomine chokes on air and it feels a lot like falling in love.

**Author's Note:**

> Look, this is probably not going to be finished, but it's been sitting on my hard-drive for months and I'm into it, even for all it's imperfections (and damn there are plenty). SO IT'S GOING UP. As is my usual MO, this is gonna be SUPER SELF-INDULGENT, MUSIC VIDEO LEVELS OF NARRATIVE and just me fucking around. This is not beta-ed and went through the loosest definition of editing, but hopefully it's still coherent and enjoyable <3


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